Colors
by koutaevans
Summary: The day you approach them, they tell you their name; the words that roll off of their tongue are drenched in silver. The tender, sensitive, kind shade of silver that paints the moon at night and illuminates the world in a milky, soft light. Moments later, you feel a bond forming; it's a broad shade of coral. Friendship. SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 2 INSIDE. Rating for Character Death.


Note: Hello! So this story was something I was thinking of writing for a while and then I finally sat down and was like "hell yeah let's write!" It's my first time writing in a long time so I'm pretty rusty. Also, Chihiro's pronouns will change since at first glance Mondo doesn't know that Chihiro's male.

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The first day you see her, she is a blank canvas; you know nothing of her, and she blends in with the thousands of other colorless people in the world.

The day you take time to look at her, alone in the back of the classroom, she is a delicate shade of amber. Recluded, quiet, shy. She speaks seldom, but her honey eyes speak volumes.

The day you approach her, she tells you her name; the words that roll off of her tongue are drenched in silver. The tender, sensitive, kind shade of silver that paints the moon at night and illuminates the world in a milky, soft light. Moments later, you feel a bond forming; it's a broad shade of coral. Friendship.

As time passes, her true colors begin to show, and she opens up to you. You've learned that her laugh is the color fuchsia, as delicate as the flower from which the color is derived. When she's excited, her eyes are flecked with millions of tones of blue, and it makes your heart swell. You begin to realize that blue has become your favorite color.

One day when you walk into class, she isn't her normal shade of amber. She's a darker, uglier, heavier shade of tenne. It drowned out her other colors easily, and when this happens you know that she's upset. When you find out that someone was responsible for this, you're seeing red. The blinding red that clouds your vision and churns deep in your gut; the red that is responsible so many mistakes in your life, that you're unable to control. When you go to confront the people who did this to her, she puts a hand out to stop you and instantly you're frozen; the red dissipates, and a calming white color seems to spread throughout your body. At once, you are calm. She has this effect on you, you realize, no matter what the situation or how bad things seem.

After that day, she is nearly constantly bathed in the sweet color of baby pink roses.

Sometimes during the night you think about her, and you toss and turn in your bed. You call her, and when she drawls sleepily into the phone, your heart flutters and the room turns the color of cranberries; hearing her voice has done this to you lately. Sometimes when you look at her in class now, she is engulfed in red- not the red you see when you're angry, but a more tender color- which she has informed you is the color of your cheeks on many occasions.

The day that she- no, he- tells you his biggest secret, he is a horrible mix of viridian and swirling black; stressed, scared, afraid… Afraid of you? When you finally manage to calm him down and assure him that you still care for him, he takes a long look at you. Then, finally, he tells you.

"You know… I've always enjoy the color red."

He leans in and touches his lips to yours, and shades of pink explode in your line of vision. Even after you close your eyes, his touch on your chest helps the colors to seep in through your skin- all the feelings of affection, of compassion, of love. It seeps deep and intermixes with your own color palette, so much so that it's even visible in the blackness that comes with closing your eyes. From then on, that color never leaves. It's always prominent, making the world pale and soft.

The first time you take him out on your motorcycle, his foggy breaths in the cold of winter is a rigid shade of navy and apricot; fear piqued with intrigue.

When you're staring up at the stars from the hill overlooking the limits of the school campus, lying in the grass hand-in-hand, his body is covered in flecks of yellow hues, as if to echo the stars up above.

The first time you wake up next to him and the early morning light filters in through the blinds, it plays off the color of his alabaster skin, reflecting rays of dusty pink.

The day he decides to reveal his secret to the world- the day before graduation- he grips your hand and stains it a gruesome purple-blue, like a bruise. His skirt is gone, and he's dressed in a dress shirt and pants; it did certainly make him look different. His skin has lost its saturation, and he's shaking heavily next to you. You walk through the doors, and the looks he's receiving is anything but pleasant. The first jab at him and he lets out a panicked, though not surprised, smoke-colored sigh. More insults are thrown his way, and the tears that inch down his face leave a black trail in their wake. Your own feelings flare, only kept at bay by the grip he has on your hand. Needless to say, you both left before the day was over.

When he gets depressed or upset, he is gray. The gray is dark, like the aftermath of a fire. It's thick and clings to his skin, soaking into the air and hanging like fog. The night after revealing his gender is one of the seldom nights you see it. You cling to him and whisper into his ear that things are going to be alright. At first you think he won't believe you, but then you see sparks of light blue flickering in his eyes and you know that things will be okay.

After graduation, the colors have returned as vivid as ever. You two have taken out the rent on a small apartment back in your home town. Things are running rather smoothly, and his yellows and greens are especially loud as of late.

When you introduce him to your gang, the closest to family you have, they accept him with open arms. At first he was scared- his stuttering words dripping with a dark, murky blue. After your announcement, the whole gang had burst out into applause and congratulatory shouts. His smile is radiant, and his whole body is glowing golden yellow.

The day you introduce him to your brother, he grips your hand and you see smears of pale green and blue. His eyes are sympathetic, and the kiss he gives your hand leaves behind a stark white mark. He whispers that he loves you, and his words are so many different colors it's impossible to set them apart.

The day you ask him to marry you, the joyous tears stain your shirt a pale pink.

On your wedding night, his eyes match the color of the love bites on his collarbone.

On idle days when neither of you are busy with work, you simply sit and enjoy each other's company, curled up with each other, and every word he whispers to you is coated in bronze.

The day that you came home from work to him collapsed on the ground, his breaths are sporadic shades of black and red.

Bursts of rusty colors are what accompanies his panicked, silent screeches. It was enough to drive you insane, just seeing the thick color fill the air and cloud the face of the one person you love.

The color of his eyes after the doctor announces it's terminal is a deep, damp charcoal gray.

As the days wear on, his colors dim a little more, though he still keeps a porcelain smile on his face. He's been asking you not to worry, that he would make it through this. You aren't fooled by this; you can see the crimson very clearly.

The first time he's hooked up to the machines, the small amount of blood that pours from the place where it was put in was a thick, dull yellow.

You come into the hospital, flowers in hand, when you can hear the doctors rushing and screaming out to get to his hospital room. Frenzied and panicked, you rush with them and see his heart rate dropping. They announce there is nothing they can do, and you take your usual spot beside his bed. His eyes are barely open now, the charcoal color dulled to the color of stone. All of his colors are like this now; gray, limp, lifeless. You take your hand in his and see the color rubbing off on your own hands. You bury your face in his palm, placing kissing and telling him everything that there is left to say. What he means to you. What he'll always mean to you. When he speaks, his words are cracked and chipped, but the flurry of colors in his voice still shines out among the dull tones.

"You made my world colorful."

With that, he whispers that he loves you one last time, and the heart monitor drops lower, and lower, until finally, it comes to a stop. There is no noise- not a sound.

And for the first time in a long time, the world is gray.


End file.
